“Alright then, where were you at the end? What happened?”
There was a short silence before Birlerion replied. “A lot of things happened. Considering Vespers was destroyed, I’m surprised you have to ask.”
“That’s no answer. Where were you? What did you do? How did you end up in the tree?”
Birlerion’s horse came to a halt as he clenched the reins and Jennery turned, eyebrows raised. He swallowed at the sight of the Sentinal’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” His voice trailed off.
The Sentinal was so rigid he could have been carved from stone, except for his eyes; they were full of pain and loss before he looked away and hid his emotions behind his considerable wall of reserve. But not before Jennery saw a flash of fear – was it? Or remorse?
“Enough, Jennery,” Jerrol said. “No more.”
Birlerion slowly relaxed his grip, and his horse began to move again.
They rode on in silence.
The sun was setting as they finally reached the Black Hen. The evening sky was burnished bronze and gold with fiery red tints flashing across the horizon. The Black Hen was a sprawling inn that showed recent signs of expansion. Lighter-coloured brick walls extended further back than Jerrol remembered, and the frames of another building stood blackly silhouetted in the burning sunset.
In the distance, dwellings were set back on either side of the track as it curved around the bend. The Grove boasted a simple temple dedicated to the Lady, as well as a meeting hall, a smithy connected to a hostelry near the sentinals and a thriving market-place.
Jerrol swung his leg over and dismounted with a tired grunt. He handed the reins up to Jennery as he unstrapped his saddlebags. “Jennery, take the horses down to the hostelry and Birlerion and I will sort out the rooms. It may make sense to get them checked over while we are here; it’s been some time since we’ve been near a smithy.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jennery said as he led Zin’talia and Birlerion’s hack down the road and round the bend out of sight. Jerrol peered at the swinging sign of a somewhat faded, grubby-looking bird. It did look more duck-like, he thought with a grin. He strolled into the cool dimness of the taproom, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of the glare of the blazing sunset.
“Evening.” He inclined his head towards the tall man standing behind the bar, polishing a glass. The taproom was empty, and the tables and chairs all tidily arranged in rows awaiting the evening crowd.
“After rooms?” the barkeep asked, with a quirk of his bushy grey eyebrows. “And maybe a bath?” he added, observing Jerrol’s grimy appearance and Birlerion’s mud-splashed travelling cloak.
“Both would be welcome,” Jerrol said. “It’s been a long week.”
“Just you?” asked the man as he reached for a numbered tag hanging on the wall behind him.
“There’s three of us. We can share a room if you have one handy.”
The ’keep tossed a tag on the bar and selected another off its hook. “One’s got two beds, the other is a single,” he said as he pulled long draughts of ale, which he plonked on the bar in front of Jerrol and then Birlerion in turn. “Gets rid of the dust,” he said. “We’re quiet tonight so you can have as many rooms as you like,” he continued. “Be busy later, though, as one of the old’uns passed; they’re all up at the landing saying their goodbyes.”
Jerrol gulped his ale. It was dark and intense, pungent enough to clear the road grime from his throat. Birlerion sniffed it suspiciously before taking a sip.
“Where you from then, travelling a week? Been up north?” the ’keep asked. He had knowing blue eyes that assessed them quickly.
“Just passing through. A bit of comfort makes a change; the ground gets harder this time of year.”
The ’keep snorted in agreement. “Dinner’s served in an hour. You can have the bathhouse to yourselves tonight, so I recommend you make the most of it. The girls can sort your clothes if you want. They’ll have them ready for you in the morning if you leave them out.”
Jerrol stared at him. “Bathhouse?” he repeated.
The ’keep grinned and pointed out the window towards the strange silhouette. “Bathhouse, hot water and all for an extra copper. Wife’s idea,” he added with a satisfied smile.
Birlerion straightened up in interest.
Jerrol finished his drink and made to place a copper on the bar, but the ’keep shooed him off. “First ones are on the house. I’ll let the girls know to start the fire. Yer room’s on the second floor, at the top of the stairs.”
Jerrol led Birlerion up the stairs to drop his bags. The first key opened the door to the twin. The room was small and narrow with most of the space taken up by two single beds, but it was clean and bright with whitewashed walls. He handed the other key to Birlerion and entered the room.
The linen smelt fresh and clean, and a small reed rug separated the beds. He grinned; they’d better not both be trying to get out of bed at the same time. A small window let the evening air in to blow away any mustiness. The inviting bed was tempting, but the bath won. He dropped his cloak on the bed and dug out clean britches, a shirt and his last piece of soap. Note to self, he thought: get soap. Heading down the stairs, he met Jennery stumping up.
Jennery squeezed past, sliding his saddlebag off his shoulder. “Well, and where are you off to?”
“The same place as you, I expect,” Jerrol grinned. Eyes alight, he waved the piece of soap under Jennery’s nose. “Bathhouse,” he gloated and sped off down the stairs.
“What?” Jennery spun to watch a rather energetic Jerrol disappear down the stairs. “Bathhouse?” He dropped his bags on the floor next to the unoccupied bed and was soon following Jerrol
